Rock and a Hard Place
by Nature9000
Summary: Trina grows confused and battles her decisions when a much loved hobby and former outlet begins to interfere with her life. Unsure of what to do, whether to give up her hobby or to slow down, she tries to rationalize what it is that is causing her to feel in such a way and goes to the bar where she works, where a regular patron and the bartender attempt to advise her on the matter.


Rock and a Hard Place

Disclaimer: Don't own Victorious

A/N: There's something about this oneshot. It's kind of hard to say, but what the character is going through, I'd like your input on what you think they should do. It's kind of left open ended for a reason which is difficult to say-though that may be obvious to some of my regulars.

* * *

-IS THERE A HAPPY MEDIUM?-

Wearing a short-sleeved, red polo, and long denim jeans, Trina Vega moved casually into her favorite bar. The Pour-Home Bar. It was connected to an all-night pizza delivery store, which she worked at part time as a delivery girl, and an ice cream shop that was the newest addition. In the mornings, she helped clean the bar, which was something she adored doing.

It was her second job, her first being a hostess at Outback. She once worked for Subway, but they didn't pay enough; so the pizza shop was what replaced that store. One of the bartenders managed to get her working there; the daughter of the owner.

It brought income in, but like Outback Steakhouse wasn't what she wanted to do in life. Trina had a degree in Criminal Justice, and would be working on her Master's degree soon enough.

At the moment, however, the job nor the degree was what weighed upon her mind.

The pub was dark, yet lit up from lights hanging from the high ceiling. In front of her was a large carpeted area with about four tables close to the door and five pool tables scattered about. She hadn't brought her cue stick with her, otherwise she'd play a game; the owner was an avid pool shark, so he made sure the pool tables were of good quality and not the poor three-foot tables at many rundown bars.

To her right was a stage for karaoke. She'd sung a couple of times. No, she wasn't a great singer, but she loved to laugh whenever a drunk walked onto that stage and slurred through the words-or in some cases, sounded like a dying cat.

The carpet was a faded blue, which went along with the grey concrete flooring where the bar chairs sat. She arranged those chairs each day, two to a square in relation to the black bar.

With a smile, she approached the black marble bar top and sat in a black steel chair, making sure there was one open seat on either side of her. Her preference was to have an open chair between her and the nearest bar patron, since she liked her space.

As she sat, she pulled the open chairs forward, touching the tops to the bar. Lately, drunks at the bar would approach her and start chatting with her as if she were their newest best friend-annoying her more so than anything else.

Some of the regulars patrons that she liked were there already. One was a tall heavyset man with a grey goatee and a ball cap he often wore. His name was John, well known with other patrons as being tough, but soft, and usually looked after people.

Down the way sat a midget that often came by, he had short brown hair and a deep voice. While he didn't talk much, when he did, most people listened as he often had good and crucial information to give about a subject he knew a lot about.

Behind the bar was Mallory, often called "Mal". She had brown hair with a long green stripe of hair that fell along the left side of her face. She was quirky and friendly with all her regulars, but as the bar manager, she knew when to be tough or to cut someone off.

Mal looked at Trina with a soft smile and started for the drafts, knowing Trina's usual starter drink-a mini pitcher of Ziegen-bock. It was an amber beer that hailed from Texas. This homely bar was one of the few in the area that had it on draft.

"I know her," Mal told one of the newer patrons as she passed. She set the mug and the pitcher down in front of Trina. "How are you today? You're not working?"

"No, not today. Worked all night delivering pizzas last night though." She yawned and shook her head before beginning to pour the beer into the frosty mug. After setting the mug down, she grabbed her wallet from her purse and handed it over to Mal.

John walked up and she graciously pulled back one of the chairs to let him sit down. "No laptop today?" He raised an eyebrow and Trina chuckled softly.

"I don't always bring it, but yeah, nothing today."

"You're usually writing something. I can tell, you have word open mostly."

"I'm an author." Trina shrugged and raise her beer to her lips. "It's mostly a hobby." She'd been a writer for many years, as it was an outlet for her-an escape from the harsh real world in her teenage years. There was a negative connotation it carried, but she also had a good love for it. "My writing's been on my mind for a long time. Like a war."

He furrowed his brow and signaled at Mal, pointing at his empty pint glass. "How so?" Mal filled his glass and approached, raising her eyebrows at Trina. "You enjoy it?"

"Love it, but it's a distraction. Hard to explain." She didn't like going into her personal life much, but John and Mal were like family-along with the other bartenders. "It's been good and bad for me, even now. There are a lot of things I feel I could be doing, a whole life I could be living…but that's less to do with my writing and more to do with me."

"Why haven't you been doing anything else?" Mal inquired.

"I should be looking for jobs in my career field, but when I should be doing that-I go to whatever my latest book is that I'm writing." Trina looked down at her glass, watching the low foam bubbles swirl in the beer. "When I could be meeting new people or doing social activities, I'm writing. I love it, it's a great hobby, but I'm starting to resent it and that worries me a bit."

She felt like her novels were holding her back from being the person she was meant to be. At first, it was an enjoyable hobby that kept her away from those that could hurt her. Then, it became an addiction-as did computer usage in of itself-and she became antisocial. Withdrawn.

No longer was she antisocial or withdrawn, but she felt like she had to write. She felt like if she didn't write, there was nothing else to do but sit around in boredom. "I have fans, you know? Readers. I put my work out there, people read my stuff…So I feel I owe them a new chapter or a new story."

There was also the issue of when she first began, she'd do nothing but write just so she could crank out a chapter each day. Now her readers, more of the regulars, were accustomed to this. She was afraid if she slowed down, they would stop reading. They would desert her.

"I still enjoy it, but I don't enjoy it as much as I used to."

Mal leaned forward, pushing her forearms over the bar and clasping her hands together. "Maybe you should take a break from it?"

"I can't do that." She chuckled vainly and raised her hand to her forehead. "If I do that, my readers will give up and stop reading."

"Why do you think that?" John asked.

"I had one reader. A regular for years. Just randomly stopped reading without any word. I never quite understood it, it upset me." She furrowed her brow and took another sip of her beer. "I don't know. Maybe it's validation I'm looking for."

Mal nodded gently, swaying her head from the left to the right. "You sound like you rely on those readers of yours. How come? I mean, not to pry into your personal life or anything…"

"I don't know." When she was younger, no one ever accepted or valued her. Nothing she ever did was good enough. That wasn't so much true anymore, but she still felt a need to be accepted or validated, and those readers were the people that did it. "I guess maybe I do. They appreciate what I do, they value me."

John raised a finger. "But they're all online, right? I mean, how long have you been at it? How long have you had these regulars, and what's the longest one you've had?" She paused, thinking for a long moment before laughing.

"I don't know. There's one girl, a personal friend of mine now that I met through the site I publish…I've known her since 2011. She's read since then, so maybe that's it. Another, some dude from Ecuador that's been around since 2012. I've been at it since probably 2007…I'd say I had plenty of regulars there, but they disappeared when I stopped writing briefly in 2009."

"So what, you're afraid these current regulars are going to stop reading if you stop writing?"

"She's probably right," Mal remarked, "Move on to another reader that is active." Trina's heart sank and she took another quick sip of her drink. Mal leaned back and moved her hand to her chest. "I know if I'm reading something online and someone stops putting things up, like a blog or something, I'm likely to move on."

John nodded and crossed his arms. "People come and go, Trina." He furrowed his brow and shrugged. "You don't feel valued at work?"

"You do a great job." Mal swept her arm out. "Carpet's always freshly vacuumed and the floor is mopped well. It looks neat, clean. I hear Mario saying how quick you are with deliveries. 'No bullshit', you always get to your delivery and back without lulling around." Mal bent her arms up, perching her elbows on the bar and framing her fingers along her cheeks. "What about that job interview you had? Did you get it?"

Trina lifted her head. "The administrative assistant? No, I didn't…"

"Oh…well don't give up."

"These days." She narrowed her eyes and looked off to the right, watching a couple people playing pool. "I don't know. I blame myself for being reclusive when I was younger, but now it's like if something social is going on, I have to write instead of go out somewhere. I feel glued to my writing, so much that I don't do things I should do, I don't interact with people or go see new places or try new things. I feel naïve too, like I can't contribute to a subject because I don't even know what to say."

"You blame all that on what? A _hobby_?"

"I guess. I don't know." Trina breathed in slow and shook her head. "More than anything, I love writing, but more than anything I want to live life. I don't think I can live life much now, because I should have done all that when I was in high school, and I didn't…" It wasn't a secret that her sister never liked to involve her in social outings with her friends back in the day-often complaining and making it seem like she was forced to drag her along.

One of the worst things was she felt like it was time to give up on her hobby. She didn't want to, but she didn't know what to do. "Do I give it up? Do I continue? I don't even know how to ration it…once I start writing, I can't stop until I've finished. It annoys me."

Mal shrugged. "You seem fully capable of coming out here. I mean hell, you're here every day." Mal pointed to the mini pitcher and smirked. "So much that I not only know that's your favorite drink, but I also know you like to have Captain Morgan's Original Spiced Rum on occasion…light on the ice." Trina chuckled softly and took another sip of her drink. "And you don't always have your laptop, so you seem perfectly capable of getting away from your computer-getting away from your hobby."

"Yeah, but you're close by, and part of my job." She closed her eyes and dropped her shoulders. It was more than just opting out of social situations. She didn't do the things she could be doing, very essential everyday things that writing could easily distract her from. She also didn't read much, because it wasn't a priority.

She felt anxiety. Get a chapter out to her readers either every day or every other day. If she didn't, they'd get bored and leave. Then no one would read her stuff anymore.

It was hard to feel like she wrote for herself anymore, which she did do. Most of her stories were for herself and not for her readers, but at the same time she was bound to them. Unfortunately another thing that changed, which changed as a result of one of her exes, was the subject matter of her novels.

Her novels were no longer interesting. When she first began, her novels were about current events, she would write with the desire to educate her readers on some sort of issue out there.

She was also was much more creative, but those creative novels were in a different area of her writing. Her original area was with different characters in a much different setting, this changed after the ex she had in 2009, and her writing in general seemed to change as well.

"I feel like my creativity died. I feel anxious to get something out constantly. So much it interferes with my want to having an actual life." Trina leaned back slowly, groaning as the square tips of the chair dug into her shoulders. "I don't want to quit my hobby, because I love it so much. I also know that if I quit, I'll be leaving multiple things still open…"

"So what?" Mal moved her hand beneath her chin, closing her fingers and using her fist as a perch. "They're readers online, right? Will they really care about you that much?" A jolt of pain shot through her heart and she visibly cringed at the thought. "You have stories, which are probably good, and you're worried about the people that read those books abandoning you. Yet you know they'll just go to the next active person. Say you change your subject matter, say you change your characters, will they read that stuff?"

"Probably not…they tend to read what they want."

"Exactly." Mal squinted her already narrow eyes and crinkled her nose. "Why does their validation and acceptance of you mean so much?"

Trina poured another portion of her pitcher into her mug and started to sigh. Her heart was heavy and laden with confusion as she began to analyze and ponder Mal's question. "When I was younger." She lifted her eyes and moved them from Mal and over to John. "My sister acted like she hated my guts, acted like she was forced to have to me around." Mal clicked her tongue and shook her head. "My parents ignored me and my father would rather have me far away than nearby. I had no friends whatsoever, and all of my sister's friends mocked me constantly."

"Hard life," John muttered, "Feeling abused and neglected. So those people you've met online, they became your friends, so to speak?"

"Some, my actual friends, yes." Granted one of those very readers had become the ex of 2009 and 2010. That was a very dark period of her life, filled with fear and abuse even worse than what was perpetuated onto her by her own family. "But I was a good writer. That was something I was good at, and people appreciated my talent. They liked it, and the more I heard it, the more validated I felt…"

"What about now?" He shrugged. "Don't you have friends now?"

"Sure. I'm in a new place." She moved to where her aunt and uncle were, and had been through a period where she felt like she had more of a parental relationship with them than anyone else. She got new jobs that led to new friends, and was now renting a room with two friends she made. "But I don't know, I still feel like I owe people…my writing got me through a lot, and some of those readers did too."

"But it's holding you back, and you aren't enjoying your own hobby as much?"

"Yeah…I don't know why. I don't know what to do. I don't want to quit-but I feel like there's no other option."

"There's one thing you haven't considered." John ran his hand through his goatee and raised an eyebrow up. Trina looked to him, half expecting him to have some golden answer to this problem of hers. "Stop depending on acceptance and validation from online viewers of your work, be more confident in yourself and take a break. Keep at your hobby, but don't feel like you have to get something in every single day otherwise you're going to lose fans."

"He's right," Mal replied, "True fans of your hobby are going to stick around no matter what. Like the guy you mentioned from Ecuador…you think if you only put one thing out on one day a week, or even one every two weeks, that the person would stop reading?"

"Or the girl she's known since 2011," John pointed out, "I'm sure it doesn't matter." John crossed his arms and closed his eyes, breathing out a long and drawn out exhale. "Plus, you know eventually they will fizzle out." Trina's eyes grew wide and her heart stopped. "They probably expect the same of you. Life changes happen, people grow and start moving on to other things…some of your fans may just stop reading altogether and even some of them probably expect you to stop writing altogether at some point in your life…"

Mal removed a cigarette from a carton and glanced at Trina with a smile. "When that happens, remember something. The people you know personally? The people here, friends and even family if you have any relatives you're close to…will always be around."

A thin and tall man with short curly hair approached from behind, he wore a plaid shirt and had an oddly shaped face. It was the bar's owner, Mitch. "Hey Trina." Trina looked over her shoulder and flashed a wry smile. "Great job cleaning up. Also Mario told me you did great on those deliveries last night, keep up the great work." Her heart rose and her smile grew.

"Thanks Mitch."

The man walked off and Trina turned back around, focusing on her dilemma. It had been going on for a couple of years now, and she thought about quitting her hobby a few times-though each time that happened, she felt inspired to write something new.

It wasn't like she could give it up. "I just don't know why I feel like I resent it when I know I enjoy it. That makes me feel like I should quit, but I don't want to."

"It could just be that anxiety you feel that compels you to put something out every fucking day," Mal remarked, "I don't think even your fans are going to complain even if you put something out once a week. You might even enjoy it more if you just relaxed and let yourself live…"

"So you're saying what, don't give up the hobby but don't make it my priority?"

"That's what I'd say, sure."

"Agreed," John said in a gruff tone.

Even Nathan, the midget sitting nearby, leaned over and voiced his opinion-startling them as Trina didn't realize he'd been able to listen. "If you want to live your life, live your life." The midget raised his pint of bud light. "Drink a little, go out and have fun. Meet people, make friends. Travel and do the things you want to. Put your life first, put your hobby second…whatever fans you might have online, they'll probably understand and even appreciate your stuff a lot more."

"Thanks…I'll give it some thought." Before, the only option she saw was quitting-and she didn't know what she would do with herself if she did that. Even still, just slowing down and not working on one of her novels every day was difficult and she honestly didn't know where to even begin.

"If all else fails…" Mal breathed out a puff of smoke that drifted into the high ceiling and smirked. "Just ask your fans. They may even agree, anyone that expects you to have something out every day and will abandon you might not be a good one…a good fan enjoys the work and is eager to see what happens, and trusts that you have a life and need to enjoy that life, but will stay and wait knowing you'll have something out."

John nodded twice and leaned back slowly. "Or if you really want to cast away something you really enjoy, then maybe it's not for you anymore."

"I do enjoy it, I don't want to cast it off. It's just that it was an outlet for so many years, something that I got validation through."

"You can still get validation and appreciation from other things. Don't you feel valued at work?"

"I do. Especially here. I'm free to be as detail oriented as possible in cleaning the bar, and I like to be efficient."

"So, what I'm hearing is your hobby is no longer your only source of validation." She paused, her eyes opening large. Her lips separated briefly and she glanced to the side, huffing with surprise. She hadn't thought about it in that way, but he was right. "You don't have to depend on your hobby. Leave it a hobby, not a chore…Hell, that might even be what's making you feel uncreative and resentful. Your hobby doesn't need to feel like work, and it isn't something that should be prioritized over real genuine priorities."

"Hell." She rolled her eyes. "How do I even worry less? It's an addiction, I'm too anxious, it's like I _have_ to be writing something. Like a drug. How do I slow down?"

"I don't know. Whatever you decide." Mal filled a whiskey glass with some of Captain Morgan's Original Spiced Rum and wagged her eyebrows. "Drink and be happy." John laughed and quickly pat Trina on the back.

"Come on, let's shoot some pool. You don't need your personal stick, just grab one of the house cues."

She sipped the rum and closed her eyes. "Sure." At least tonight, she could focus on her _other_ hobby: Billiards.

* * *

What do you think? You think Mal's right? Nathan? John? THey all seem to say the same, but they also suggest other things it seems. It's open ended because there's no right answer, I guess, and other things. Maybe Trina should take a break from her hobby for a while, but should she be afraid of losing attention because of it? Probably not. Overall, she does seem to be appreciated in other areas and doesn't have to rely on one sole hobby. Even her last question, how on earth does she even slow down on something that feels like an addiction, but mainly is due to that anxiety. Hmmm, what are your thoughts?


End file.
